Tactics
by IcarusForgotten
Summary: It's not everyday that Encke challenges people to arm-wrestling.


**Happy birthday Elise-tales! Sorry that it's this late! I hope you like it! :)**

Deep in the darkest corners of the fighter base level was a small table with two chairs stationed in the centre of a gathering crowd of fighters. Hanging from the ceiling, a stuttering lantern directed an eerie stream of orange and green fluorescence, the colours alternating in strange patterns, like that of a possessed disco orb. Cain was puzzled, as was everyone else who was ordered from their warm beds to report to the fighter base three hours prior to duties. For Cain, the _direct request_, as Encke had emphasized over the intercom, was especially difficult, as after returning from vigorous training regimes, he'd been needing to care of a certain urge tugging at his tight pants, which seemed even tighter the second Cain returned to his room and saw Abel sprawled over the bed, tending to his own _issues_. So after obtaining fifteen minutes of sleep, rather than the expected three hours, Cain was, to say the least, a tad cranky.

There were fighters in all stages of dress, some in full fighter uniform, and others ranging from cozy pajamas to stark naked. Needless to say, it was the most intimidating fighters, the cockiest bastards on this fucking ship, who had the guts to be walking among shitloads of horny motherfuckers who were beyond irritated by this _lovely surprise_.

In the darkness, behind the fringes of the crowd, Cain saw a shadow stirring out of the corner of his eye, merging with the walls with an all too familiar grace. Soon after, there was the sensation of thin fingers running up his thigh and trailing over his waist, only to pull away and leave something of a memory behind, like a hazy dream. Deimos stood erect and at attention by Cain's side, eyes brooding under his dark bangs and mouth cocked in a knowing grin.

Cian raised his eyebrow. "What's the news?" he breathed. There was no need for everyone to know that he may have an upper hand in this situation, thanks to his little _myshonok_.

"No need to worry. Encke is instigating his dominance again. No major consequences."

"Nothing major, huh?" Cain was skeptical about this. There was no such thing as no consequences. Not in his life. For every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction. Where was that crap from? Newton? Either way, for him, the opposite reaction far exceeded an equal one. Such were the facts of life.

An unearthly shriek suddenly filled the room, the seizure-flickering of the fluorescent lights adding to the effects of chills slowly creeping up cold spines. Out from the shadows stepped Encke, holding an ancient microphone, like from the old Earth days of pro wrestling, in which the game announcers would speak from these dangling relics. Cain had never layed eyes on such an item before, but he imaged that such an ancient tool would be responsible for the previous noise. But then again, he really didn't want to consider other explanations.

"Listen up scumbags! We're going to play a game." Encke made his way through the crowd of fighters, who parted for him as though he were carrying the plague, the ancient cord of the ancient microphone dragging behind him like a disembodied tail. Something inappropriate played through Cain's head. He turned to his side, evil smirk tugging at his lips, and was met with an empty space. Deimos had disappeared somewhere. Again. Cain cursed under his breath – sure, no major consequences. Deimos was always the first to leave the scene when something was up. The little rat would get his soon enough, Cain would make sure of that.

In the meantime, he needed to deal with whatever this bastard was dishing out.

"I've noticed that you're all cocky little shits, running around the ship like you're hot stuff. And I thought I _explicitly _told you to _forget about all that alpha dogbull shit_!" Encke rounded the table once, eyes at his feet, then slowly being raised to meet the tired gazes of the fighters gathered in the room. Encke was being a dramatic little prick. Figures.

Cain folded his arms over his chest and huffed, blowing his bangs out of his eyes.

Encke looked in his direction, eyes brooding and mouth stretched in a satirical grin.

"Well, well. Looks like the star of the party has arrived. Did I get your panties in a knot, _princess_?"

Cain tightened his fists.

"Maybe I can rip them off and fuck that brick out of your ass. I've received the most complaints about you – don't think that just because I don't witness your actions first hand means that I don't know about them. I've got sources."

"Whatever, why don't you go have the rest of your head, you could donate your turdy hair to a balding cunt."

Encke's smile broadened. "Mmm, someone sure loves to taunt. Perhaps you'd like to share your bedrooms secrets with your fellow colleagues?" Encke pulled out a thin disk, holding it by the edge between two thick fingers. His eyes were sparkling.

"You fucking fuck! You put cameras in my room?!"

"Relax, _princess_, I have to keep tabs on my crew somehow, don't I?"

Cain's jaw tightened. Oh, shit was definitely going down tonight.

"Hmm, I'm wondering where I should start. Perhaps with the fact that you let your navigator fuck you like a little doll from time to time, sounding like a fucking zebra while he holds you real close. I'm sure your street cred will plummet incredibly from an exposure like that. Oh goodness me, did I say that out loud? What a shame. I really should be careful about thinking aloud, shouldn't I?"

In less than a second, all eyes were on Cain, predatory and filled with desire. The nude fighter turned his erection towards Cain, jerking his hips in time with his arms, a nasty grin plastered over his face. Fuck.

Encke pointed towards the table. "Tell you what. You want this file? Beat me in an arm-wrestling match. No strings attached."

Cain nodded, barely an indication, but the motion was there. His pride had been injured enough. Head held high, he moved through the crowd of fighters, pushing forward with haste and snarling with the animalistic intent to kill at those who found the confidence to slap his ass. The fuckers didn't know who they were dealing with. A singular moment of weakness was no indication of incompetence, and these cunts would find that out the hard way. After today, they were dead.

Cain reached the table and pulled the chair out with his foot, plopping violently into the splintered wood. Encke gave him a crude wink and pulled out the chair opposite from where Cain sat, motioning with his arm for Cain to come sit. Cain grit his teeth, huffing air from his nose and moving over to the other chair, spitting out a vulgar "happy?".

Encke turned to the crowd, lifting the ancient mic and breathing into it for a quick test. The room echoed with a hair-splitting shriek. "Let this be a lesson to all of you," his voice boomed through the room, fluorescent lights flickering much more frantically than before. "If any of you _ever_ defy me again, public humiliation will be the _least_ of your worries. I have blackmail material on _all of you_. Dark secrets that your mothers don't even know. Tread carefully under my command."

He dropped the mic to the floor, a sharp thud resounding, reminiscent to a treacherous wail. Encke took his seat across from Cain and placed his arm on the table, his hand large and inviting. Cain grudgingly placed his hand in Encke's gripping it ferociously. Encke's grip was far stronger, and Cain tried his best not to wince when he felt incredible pressure on the bones of his hand, the pain creeping all the way down to his elbow. He hated feeling this fragile.

"Referee!" Encke shouted.

From the shadows stepped Deimos, eyes dancing in the fluorescent spasms of light. He placed his hands over the clasped grips of Cain and Encke, starting his countdown from ten. Encke leaned in real close, motioning with his head for Cain to do the same. HE followed.

"Your ass is nice masturbating material, kid," he whispered, tongue darting out harshly and licking his calloused lips.

" . . . three . . . two . . . one!"

The struggle began. Encke's strength was overwhelming. Cain felt as though the muscles of his his arm were being ripped to shreds. With one last burst of energy, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Encke's, tongue violently breaching through Encke's lips and Encke opened his mouth in surprise.

The last thing Cain remembered was Encke's fist and a numbing blackness.


End file.
